


pipedream

by Willow_bird



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (nothing graphic) - Freeform, (when Neil was Abram in little leage), Andrew Returns from Easthaven, Andrew and Neil knew each other as children, M/M, Mentions of Medicated Andrew, Mentions of canonical violence, Neil Josten is NOT a Hallucination, POV Andrew Minyard, Pining, Protective Andrew Minyard, Reunions, Rewritten Scene, Sober Andrew Minyard, The King's Men, canon-divergent, i need to learn how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird
Summary: Before Andrew went off to Easthaven, Neil gave him the name “Abram”, solidifying Andrew’s theory that he really was some sort of side-effect of the fucking drugs he was on. After all,Abramwas supposed to be dead, supposedly chopped to little bits by his psychopath daddy almost ten years go - though there’d been no actual evidence to support it.Then Andrew gets out, and he’s entirely unprepared for what is waiting for him.----Andrew’s POV for Andrew’s return from Easthaven, with a twist! This is a slightly canon-divergent AU where Andrew used to love exy before his best friend vanished on a trip to Edger Allen and has been thought to be dead for over eight years. (The friend was Neil/Abram.)
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 38
Kudos: 383





	pipedream

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a bug in my ear for a while now and I finally sat down and wrote it. If you have any questions or if anything doesn’t make sense feel free to leave it in the comments or ping me over on tumblr ( [@kiirynilcc](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kiirynilcc) ). That being said, I really hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!! <3
> 
> Please note that some of the dialogue was taken directly from ‘The King’s Men’ in an effort to align the scene of Andrew’s return as closely with the original as possible. The dialogue from the brief flashback at the beginning is also taken directly from ‘The Raven King’.

“Andrew, are you almost ready?”

Andrew looked over to where Daniel, a lanky, curly-haired aide was poking his head through the doorway. Daniel seemed young to be working at Easthaven, he couldn’t be much older than Andrew himself, but he knew his shit and was probably the only reason Andrew hadn’t actually killed someone while he was here. Something between the dimples and the smooth brown skin and the way he’d instantly decided Andrew would like him (regardless of Andrew’s opinions or, honestly, capability to comply) had reminded him of Nicky. While this was something that would usually annoy him, Easthaven had been enough of a fucking hellride that Andrew had been willing to shamelessly cling to any bit of familiarity he could after the first week. 

Not that Andrew _clung_ to anything - but he’d allowed Daniel to hover, which was close enough. 

“Eager to get rid of me?” Andrew deadpanned, his expression utterly blank. Despite everything that happened while he was here and how viciously awful the come-down from the drugs had been, it was an aching relief not to feel the meds tugging up the corners of his mouth and filling him with false elation like he was some kind of deranged puppet being jerked about on chemical strings. 

“Absolutely, my friend. Speaking of, your friends are here to get you. Family? Friends and family?”

Andrew paused, his thumbs rubbing over the rough texture of the strap of his bag. “How many?”

“Hm?”

“How many people showed up?”

 _Three,_ he told himself. _He’s going to say ‘three’._

“Four! Your brother is obviously one of them. I mean…” he chuckled and gestured to Andrew which Andrew supposed was supposed to be in reference to the fact that he and Aaron shared a fucking face. “But I’m not sure who the other three are. They’re all super excited to see you though!”

Somehow, Andrew doubted that. He didn’t bother to respond, not even to shrug; he just shouldered the bag and moved to follow Daniel out into the hall. The taller man was chattering about something, but Andrew wasn’t paying attention. He was thinking about the fourth person. Maybe it was Wymack, though that didn’t sound right. Daniel had said ‘friends’, which meant it would be assholes his own age. Renee, maybe. 

Or maybe Neil was real after all. 

Andrew was just coming around to the idea that maybe Neil _was_ real, and that didn’t have to mean he was who he’d come to think he was, when he stepped into the lobby and saw them. 

When he saw _him_.

If he’d still been on the drugs, he probably would have doubled over laughing. He probably would have laughed so hard he’d end up throwing up. As it were, Andrew didn’t laugh - and he was thankful that the drugs had stripped away his nerve endings so it was a struggle to express anything at all, let alone the shock that slammed into him as he saw Abram again for the first time in over eight years. 

Except it wasn’t for the first time, was it? Neil had been Abram all along. Andrew had known it, had suspected it was possible from that first night in Columbia when he saw those blue eyes. But the drugs were so _strong_ and they controlled him even when he was sober, had lasting effects he just couldn’t escape even when he fought - and he thought…

Abram was supposed to be _dead_.

And then:

* * *

_”Then don’t trust ‘Neil’,” he’d said. “Trust me.”_

_Andrew knew what that meant. He knew what Neil was saying even before he asked: “Oh, but who are you? Do you have a name?” They’d been dancing around the truth for months, because Andrew hadn’t wanted to believe it and Neil hadn’t wanted to confirm._

_But this time Neil didn’t even hesitate._

_“If you need one, call me Abram.”_

* * *

Andrew had never told anyone that name before. Had never let anyone know about Abram. About the time when he’d had a best friend that had kept him afloat when drowning had seemed the only option. There hadn’t been a point - because one day Abram had disappeared and on the news they were calling him Nathaniel and saying he was dead. 

It had to be a hallucination. He couldn’t possibly be fucking real. He was hearing things and seeing things and they were just going to drag him off to Easthaven anyway, so he’d laughed and agreed.

But now here he was. And it wasn’t with Neil’s dark hair and fake brown eyes. It was Abram, fox-haired, blue-eyed, beaten-to-shit Abram. 

Some things never changed. 

Andrew didn’t allow his gaze to linger too long. He needed time to process this. After glancing at him for only long enough to confirm that what his eyes were seeing was real he started moving again, heading for the doors with steady strides that could never be mistaken for _escape_ but also definitely didn’t dawdle. He needed to get the fuck _out_ of this _place_. Never in his life would he have thought he’d be itching to get back to Fox Tower, but he couldn’t get back on the roof fast enough. He wanted the drop, needed to see how it affected him, needed to compare it to the feeling in his stomach when he looked at Neil… at _Abram_.

Fuck. He was fucked. 

Once outside, he took a detour to the dumpsters positioned at the corner of the building to dispose of the clothes he and Bee had picked up on their way into Easthaven. He’d burn the ones he was currently wearing later. There was nothing about his stay at that fucking place that he wanted to keep around. He didn’t want any reminders of the room he stayed in or the ‘therapy’ he went through. Andrew added a scalding shower to his mental list, right after half a pack of cigarettes and a nice long look off the edge of a dead-drop. 

Satisfied that most of the clothes he’d worn in that fucking place were now scattered among the refuse, Andrew turned and surveyed the parking lot. It only took a quick glance to find the others and, yes, _there_ \-- his _car_. At least he could be sure there was one thing that hadn’t gotten fucked while he’d been gone. 

The locks on the doors clicked open as Andrew approached and Nicky and Aaron were already getting into the car. Andrew opened the drivers’ side door but didn’t get in yet. Instead, he leaned against the car with one arm draped over the open door as he turned to finally watch the remaining two members of their group approach. It was an effort, but he didn’t focus on the sorry state that Neil, that _Abram_ , was in. He absorbed it, recognized it, but then let it go -- at least for now. 

Kevin came to stop before him and he could see the intense scrutiny in the tall striker’s gaze. He didn’t know what Kevin thought he was going to find, and didn’t care if he found it. Instead he subjected him to his own brief inspection, taking in the bruises on one side of his face - just over the crest of his cheek and rounding the side of his eye in a well-aimed hit that, honestly, Kevin had probably deserved. Whether he deserved it or not didn’t really matter, though. Andrew had very strict rules, and one of those rules was that Kevin was not to be touched. 

Considering how much of an asshole Kevin was, it was a wonder he wasn’t in worse shape. He’d refrain from guessing what had happened, though. Kevin had a bruise and Neil ( _Abram_ ) was beat to shit. They could be connected or resulting from completely different situations and he wasn’t prepared to get his answers just yet. Instead, he gave his fingers a flick and sent Kevin on his way. As Kevin rounded the car to get into the passenger seat, Andrew allowed himself the slightest instant to glance at the other striker as he ducked into the backseat with the other two. Fox haired, blue eyed, beaten to shit, _Abram_.

His hands curled into fists before he tore his gaze away and slid into the front seat. He held his hand out, palm up, without glancing back, and a familiar key ring dropped into it. He curled his fingers around it, rubbing his thumb briefly over the well-known ridges that unlocked their house in Columbia before flicking his hand to bring up the car key so he could get them the fuck out of there. 

The car purred gently to life but that didn’t completely cover the small sound of pain from the backseat. It took more effort to keep his eyes forward than he’d ever admit to. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“It’s fine.” _Fine, yeah right._

“It isn’t. I mean, Jesus, Andrew, aren’t you even going to ask--”

Andrew turned the music on, instantly turning it loud enough that it gave him a headache but that was preferable to allowing Nicky to finish that sentence. 

_Nope._

Kevin reached for the volume as Andrew maneuvered out of the parking lot, but he didn’t attempt again after Andrew incercepted and jabbed a warning finger in his direction. He didn’t need to look at him or say anything to communicate that he was _not_ putting up with his shit today. Apparently, the message got through and the ride all the way back to Fox Tower was filled with the miscellaneous sounds of the too-loud radio rather than unnecessary chatter. 

It was a relief to get back to Fox Tower, and Andrew’s hand was on the door handle almost before he’d finished turning off the car, unwilling to be trapped by questions before he had a chance to ask his own. When he opened the door he found that he wasn’t the first to leave the car. Neil was there. It took effort, but Andrew didn’t look at him, didn’t let himself _see_ Abram as he stepped away from the car and moved to swing the door shut. 

A hand stopped the door before it closed and Andrew froze. He didn’t move as Neil slid into the narrow space between him and the car and _fuck_ if his heart didn’t jump in his chest, _fuck_ if his breath didn’t stall in his lungs, _fuck_ if every muscle in his whole goddamn body didn’t tense with the nearness of him. Even if he was real, was genuinely _there_ , was _Abram_... this, _this_ shouldn’t have carried over now that he was sober. He didn’t even have the luxury of blaming the tumble of fucking _feeling_ on the shock of this man being Abram, here, alive. Andrew was self-aware enough to recognize the punch of attraction tangled up in the surge of protective _need_ to keep this idiot close. 

Without meaning to, Andrew shifted his body slightly, not really moving closer but putting himself as a blockade between Neil and the rest of the parking lot. When Neil stood, they were almost touching. There wasn’t even enough room for him to fully turn around to face him and when he angled his body away from the car they really were close enough to kiss. They were close enough that Andrew could _feel_ the way all the tension bled out of the other man, like he took Andrew’s nearness to be a reassurance and a comfort when anyone else would see it as a threat. It was almost awkward, the hairsbreadth of space between them, and Andrew had the absurd impulse to close the distance, to feel the striker’s body pressed firmly to his own. He wanted to brush his fingers over the destruction on his face, wanted to hook his hand around the back of his neck and pull him in, wanted to…

Too soon and not soon enough, Andrew took a step back. He distracted himself by looking around to find Nicky. “You stay,” he ordered -- and somehow he was surprised to find his voice as impassive and empty as it was, as if nothing was happening between his throat and his stomach at all. “The rest go.”

Andrew didn’t look at Neil, but he saw Nicky’s gaze slide behind him. When Nicky nodded, he felt Neil move but he didn’t turn his head to watch him. He did look at Kevin when the taller striker hesitated to follow along, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t care if the other man found whatever he was looking for as he studied his face again. Andrew hoped he’d get over his weirdness soon. If the man was going to stare at him whenever he didn’t break into manic glee this was going to a long fucking sememster. 

Nicky took half a step forward once the others had vanished into Fox Tower. “Andrew? Hey man, how do you feel? I know--”

“What happened to Kevin’s face?” Andrew wasn’t interested in pleasantries. 

“Oh. Um. Matt had a go at him. Heh. You know how those two don’t get along. Well, Kevin doesn’t get along with anyone -- but he kinda deserved it this time. Matt wasn’t just getting punchy or anything. We’ve actually all been getting along okay.” Andrew didn’t care why Matt had punched Kevin or if Kevin had deserved it, he fully believed that he had and that wasn’t the point. The point was that _Kevin was not to be touched_. Matt would need a reminder. Very well, he could take care of that later. 

He had Nicky fill him in on the other things he needed to know: Aaron’s trial and if the Ravens had pulled any more shit. His cousin peppered in other unnecessary details that Andrew had no choice but to file away. Though there was one detail that struck him as interesting. Apparently, the group had spent the holidays up in New York with Matt and his mother. This on it’s own was inconsequential, but it somehow didn’t match up with the sorry state a particular _rabbit_ was in.

When he’d learned what he needed to know from Nicky they headed inside and he sent Nicky on his way, instructing him to fetch Neil. Andrew made a brief detour to his room to grab his cigarettes, then went to the stairwell that led up to the roof, ducking just inside the door to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. 

The moment he entered the stairwell, Andrew’s gaze dropped to the bundle of dark cloth that the striker was holding out to him. It took him a moment to realize what it was, and when he did something sparked and _surged_ uncomfortably in his chest. 

_This idiot cannot be real,_ he thought bitterly to himself as he grabbed the armbands from his grasp and turned his back to tug them on. Between sharing a dorm and daily changes in the locker room surrounded by other men, Andrew was an expert at pulling his armbands on and changing without flashing the scars on his forearms, but he turned his back anyway. He didn’t want to see Neil watching him. He didn’t want to look at _Abram_ , not when he had so many questions and so few fucking answers. Not when the cavity left behind by the vacancy of false euphoria, cleared out by his sobriety, was far less empty than he’d been anticipating. 

Andrew didn’t bother saying anything before heading up the stairs, knowing Neil would follow. He jiggled open the door and didn’t stop until he was standing right at the edge of the roof. The drop hit him in the chest and dug claws almost tenderly into his belly, a reminder that feeling could be _real_. The drugs were completely out of his system now, so he knew that anything he felt, any rush of his blood and tightness in his chest, was genuine. It wasn’t the drugs, it was all him. The fear and the…

Well, all of it.

As his gaze scanned across what he could see of the campus, his hand slipped into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes - but he stopped when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Neil step up beside him. In his hand was his own pack, and he shook out two sticks. Andrew turned his head to watch as Neil lit one, and then the other, paying too much attention to the way the other man’s lips softened around the filter to give each stick it’s life-giving breath. When Andrew accepted his, he perched it between his lips and tried to ignore the thrill that jumped from the filter to his lips to his pulse like an electric kiss. 

He allowed himself two full drags before he addressed the idiot beside him. 

“I’ll take an explanation now.”

“You couldn’t ask for answers inside where it’s warm?”

Cute. 

“If you are worried about dying of exposure you’re a little late,” he sniped back dryly. Before he could really stop himself, he lifted one hand toward the striker’s face. He didn’t touch, but he hovered it over his cheek, tracing the air over his injuries as he met Abram’s eyes for the first time without the drugs’s infectious mania poisoning his veins. “Did I break my promise, or were you keeping yours?”

First things first, Andrew wanted to know what the _fuck_ had happened. 

“Neither.”

Andrew scoffed and dropped his hand. He faced the drop-off again and took a harsh drag of his cigarette. “I would accuse you of trying to fashion me a lie, but apparently you’ve been telling me more truths than I realized.” He looked over at him without turning his head, just a flick of the eyes. “Abram.”

Bold blue eyes met his without a flinch. “I’ll tell you everything, Andrew. You just have to tell me which answers you want first.” So he was done pretending to hide from him then. Good. It wasn’t like he was able to anymore, anyway, but Andrew had limited patience and no desire to spend it on the boy who was supposed to have died eight _fucking_ years ago. 

He held his gaze, silent for a long moment, then gave a nod and looked back out over the edge. He leaned into the tug of vertigo that the drop always gave him, using it to remind him that this was real, this was happening. 

“Answer the question, then. I promised to keep you safe, you promised to protect Kevin. Which one was involved with why it looks like you went one on one with a roided gorilla.”

“Neither,” the idiot persisted. Andrew sighed, but before he could unleash his chiding, Neil continued with, “I spent Christmas in Evermore.”

Andrew turned to face him fully again, reaching for the bandage on his cheek before he fully realized what he was doing. It hadn’t registered completely until Neil said the damn word _Evermore_ , not among the sea of all his other injuries. But the moment he said it the image jumped out out him unbidden. Neil, the bandage, Kevin’s and Riko’s and Jean- _fucking_ -Moreau’s numbers. His nails scraped over the striker’s cheek and the other man didn’t even flinch as he ripped the bandage off with as much barely-contained frantic energy as he was willing to permit himself. 

There it was. Tiny, unassuming, in pitch black ink: 4.

That motherfucker had fucking _branded_ him. Had stamped his mark into him, into Neil, into _his_ Neil, into _his **Abram**_ and --

Andrew stopped himself before he could spiral any further. He was thankful for the returned control of his facial expressions that sobriety had given him, but somehow he thought that Neil could still read the edge of violence in him. The striker was standing still, lightly tensed as if he was bracing for a hit he didn’t intend to block. _Idiot._

“This is a new low even for you,” Andrew said quietly. He was talking about his trust in Andrew’s control, or maybe his willingness to take the hit one way or another, but he knew Neil would take the words as a reference to the number itself.

“I’m not wearing it by choice.” Andrew didn’t bother to correct his interpretation.

“You chose to go to Evermore,” he said instead, because he needed to know _why_.

“I came back.” It was another one of those moments where, Andrew knew, if he’d been on his meds he would have grinned and laughed uproariously. He’d have giggled and probably applauded, his mind taking the swell of emotions inside him and distorting them to something… _else_. 

“Riko let you go,” he deadpanned back instead. At the very least, the idiot needed to understand exactly how that had played out, and how it _could_ have gone. “We are doing too well this year and your feud is too public. No one would have believed you willingly transferred to Edger Allen mid-season.” Maybe he’d been able to keep his tone bland, but he didn’t bother to keep the irritation from his hands as he all but smacked the bandage back over that hideous tattoo. He still took the time to press the edges of the tape down to make sure it was secured as he continued with, “You weren’t supposed to leave Kevin’s side. Did you forget?”

They were supposed to stay _together_. Safe, and _together_. If he’d been so far gone that he was hallucinating a whole fucking _person_ then it was better for Kevin that he’d gotten clean sooner rather than later anyway - but in the event that Neil was real and his fucked up head had just overlaid the suspicion of _Abram_ over him, then he and Neil still had a deal and they’d be safer if they fucking stayed _together_.

Apparently, the little idiot had had other ideas. 

“I promised to keep him safe,” Neil said now. “I didn’t say I’d hound him every step of the way like you do.” Well that was rich. If he wasn’t so determined for the mouthy brat to get to the point, he might find himself to be offended by that. “I kept my end of the deal.”

Andrew briefly considered the hassle he’d have to deal with if he just pushed Neil off the roof. It would almost be worth it. Almost.

“But not like this,” he said instead. “You already said this had nothing to do with Kevin.” It was time to get to the fucking point. “Why did you go?”

It was clear that Neil really, _really_ didn’t want to say. Those blue eyes broke away from him for the first time. He looked out over the campus, then down at his shoes. He looked at the smoke rising from his cigarette as if he were considering taking a drag, or maybe hoping it would give him the answers. In the end, looking vaguely sick, he finally returned his gaze to Andrew and choked out, “Riko said if I didn’t, Dr. Proust would--”

 _No._ Too many things in his head, too many things in his chest, too many things clawing fissures in his stomach -- but not too many that he couldn’t lift his hand and clap it over Neil’s mouth before he uttered another goddamn word. _No._

The moment lasted for one breath and an eternity, but when Andrew was sure Neil wasn’t going to finish his sentence he dropped his hand. When he spoke he kept his voice low and steady. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I need your protection.” 

_Especially not from you,_ he didn’t say. _Especially not if this is the cost. I lost you once, and I almost lost you again before I even realized I’d actually gotten you back._ He didn’t let those thoughts linger. In fact, he wrapped them up tight and shoved them far, far back down into the cavity in his chest. He tied a weight around them and thrust them into the ocean of his mind, hoping they would sink and sink and sink and never touch the surface again. 

“I had to try. If I had the chance to stop it but did nothing, how could I face you again? How could I live with myself?”

“Your crumbling psyche is your problem, not mine.” Ironic, because just a couple of months ago he’d been sure he was the one losing his mind. From the drugs rather than idiotic sentiments like guilt or regret, but still. “I made you a promise. I said I would keep you alive. You make it infinitely more difficult for me when you actively try to get yourself killed.”

“You spend all this time watching our backs,” Neil said, so fucking stubborn with his audacity to fucking _care_. “Who’s watching yours? Don’t say you are, because you and I both know you take shit care of yourself.”

A bubble from parts of himself too stubborn to drown buoyed rebelliously to the surface. It held the distant ache of familiarity. The treacherous tang of hope. _What are you going to do about it?_ he wanted to snark back -- but he didn’t, because he was afraid of what the answer would be, afraid of what it would bring careening right back up to the surface with a force he wouldn’t be able to smother again. 

“You have a hearing problem,” he commented instead, determined to keep them firmly on the point. “Too many balls to the helmet, perhaps. Can you read lips?” He pointed to his mouth, enunciating clearly, hoping to poke at the fire he knew was always kindling inside the striker. Anything that would help him keep barely-buried things firmly under wraps. “The next time someone comes for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?” It went without saying that if someone tried to use Andrew as leverage that he was to tell them to fuck right off and then _ignore it_. 

_Do not put yourself in danger for me. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t do it at all, but especially not for me._

The weight was slipping free, the knot loosening, eroded by the surging current.

“If it means losing you, then no.”

Some islands were formed when an underwater volcano erupted, spewing molten rock into the frigid sea with such force and volume that hundreds of miles worth of substance was able to pool and float up to the surface before it fully cooled. It was an ugly, violent process. The weight on Andrew’s not-drowning sentiments fled the depths of his self-control on the wave of that violence, and the heat, the heat, the _heat_ flooded Andrew’s veins on it’s way back up.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, pulling it all the way down to the filter before flicking it off the edge of the building. He let the smoke burn in his lungs for a long moment, finally letting it out when he was relatively confident that he’d be able to keep his tone as casual as possible. 

“I hate you,” he said, then looked over at Neil. He met his eyes, looked at Abram. “You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.”

It took a moment, then surprise melted to understanding in those starbright blue eyes. “I’m not a hallucination.” Neil looked out over that four-storey drop, then met his eyes again. “Andrew… I would have come to find you, after my mom died. I knew where you were, but I couldn’t risk it. If Kevin recognized me…”

Andrew waved a hand in dismissal. He didn’t want nor need apologies, not from Abram, not for that. What he wanted were _answers_.

“The truth, Abram. The whole truth.” He reached over and stole the rest of the other man’s cigarette, since he wasn’t putting it to any use. “Do not think you can rabbit your way around the details, either.”

Neil sighed, but he nodded. “I guess I owe you that much.” He shook out two more cigarettes, lit both sticks, and Andrew finished off his stolen one in a few short drags before accepting the fresh one. They sat down against the wall, only a few feet from the edge of the roof, and Neil told him the truth. 

He told him about how his mother would take him to little league under the name ‘Abram’, which was his middle name. He told him that his father was more than just a thug but had been a crime boss in his own right, but that Neil hadn’t even known himself about the ties to the Moriyamas until the Fall Banquet, where Kevin filled him in upon finding out who he actually was. He told him how he was supposedly… _owned_ by the Moriyamas and how when his father got out of prison he’d probably be coming to kill him, if his people didn’t get to him first.

“I thought I would be able to run again. I thought, if I could just have a few months I could… carry that with me, you know? Then when I got here, and I played on the court, and I had you again,” Neil gave a short laugh, “even if you didn’t know who I was and didn’t trust me as far as you could throw me--”

Andrew snorted. “I could throw you pretty far, Josten, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Fair enough.” Neil flashed him a smirk then looked at the thin line of smoke curling up from his woefully neglected cigarette. “Point is, once I had all of that, I couldn’t let it go. I _can’t_ let it go. I’m going to keep this as long as I can.”

Andrew hated how that sounded like last wishes. He took a slow, deep drag of his cigarette and let it out through his nose. “I made you a promise. You know I always keep my promises.”

“You made Neil a promise,” Abram countered, his voice rough on the edge of a growl, familiar fire burning from his lungs to his lips. “Neil doesn’t exist and I’m not holding you to a vow to shield a deadman.”

“That is _bullshit_ and you know it. Abram, Neil, I do not fucking _care_ what you call yourself. I made a promise and I am going to keep it.” He looked the other man in the eye and let him see _exactly_ how stubborn he was going to be about this. This close, he could see how the January chill was turning the tips of his ears pink and how either rage or the cold was making his jaw clench and his shoulders tremble. The idiot wasn’t wearing a fucking coat and had one hell of a fucking temper so it was honestly probably both. 

Apparently he was convincing, though, because the argument was dropped. Well, at least partially.

“Then I want a new deal,” he said instead. 

Andrew snorted. “Oh? And who am I making this deal with?”

The striker had to think about it for a moment, studying his cigarette as if it had all the answers before he finally said, “Neil. Abram was what my mom called me. Well, my mom and little league. For a long time…” He let out a long sigh and stubbed out the remainder of the cigarette, wrapping his arms around himself with a wince in an effort to ward off the chill. “For a long time the only happy memories, the only bit of safety and _identity_ I had was in being Abram. I was Neil for almost a year before you guys picked me up in Millport, and back then he was nothing more than another meaningless name - a mask to hide behind. Now…” He looked over at Andrew, and when he did something in his expression shifted, changed, _softened_.

Blue eyes shouldn’t be able to get that _warm_ , especially not in South Carolina January -- and they sure as fuck shouldn’t look at _him_ of all people like that. 

Things in his chest snapped and crackled, scraping and clawing and digging little burrows of feeling where they absolutely weren’t wanted but Andrew already knew it was unlikely he’d be able to clear the infestation. Not if this idiot was going to do this, was going to say things and look at him like that. 

Andrew scowled and pushed his face away, touching his fingertips to one of the few bruise-free scraps of skin on his chin for purchase. 

“Get to the point, Josten. It’s creepy when you talk about yourself in the third person.”

Neil huffed a soft laugh and looked out across PSU’s campus. “The point is that I feel real for the first fucking time in my life since those stolen moments in little league. Here, on the court, with the Foxes, with _you_. It wasn’t Abram who found those things, who decided to fight for those things. It was Neil. I want to keep fighting. I want to be Neil Josten -- now, and for as long as I can.”

Dread pinched in his stomach at the implication that there was some kind of a fucking time limit here, but Andrew wasn’t going to push it right now. They had at least until May before the clock really started ticking, though Andrew hadn’t missed the implication that even if Nathan Wesninski was in jail that didn’t mean his people weren’t more than happy to take advantage of an opportunity if it presented itself. 

“Fine then, _Neil Josten_ , what kind of deal?”

“You continue to watch my back, since I know you aren’t going to relinquish it even though we both know you should” --Andrew rolled his eyes at the side-glare-- “and I’ll watch yours.”

Andrew snorted, opening his mouth to refute this little bit of idiocy, but Neil cut him off. 

“We’ve already been over the fact that you take shit care of yourself. And I’m only going to do it anyway, so you can either agree to it now and make both our lives easier -- or I’m going to just become even more of a pain in the ass than I already am and make your ‘job’ even more difficult.”

The challenge in Neil’s eyes should _not_ be so damn attractive. Half of him wanted to push the little fucker off the roof, and the other half of him wanted to kiss him until he forgot how to _breathe_ properly. Of course, this instantly filled his mind with what Neil might look like after being kissed breathless and Andrew attempted to clear the utterly useless fantasy with a deep drag of his cigarette. He brought it down to the filter again and flicked the butt over the edge of the roof with irritation in his fingertips. 

“Fine,” he gritted out as he pushed himself up to stand. “Now let’s get the fuck inside. It’s too cold for this.”

Neil groaned as he stood, from the cold or the pain or the fact that Andrew had already kept him out here way too long. “Pretty sure I said that when we first got out here,” he grumbled as they headed toward the roof access door. 

Andrew lingered a few feet behind, watching him go. 

Blue-eyed, fox-haired, beaten-to-shit Abram. He was here. He was Neil Josten. And if Andrew had anything to say about it, he wasn’t fucking going _anywhere_ ever again. Fuck the Moriyamas, fuck Nathan Wesnkinski and his cronies, fuck them all. 

Neil paused at the door and looked back when he realized that Andrew wasn’t following. He looked confused for a moment, then his expression shifted and changed and softened again. 

“I’m not a hallucination,” he reminded him, his voice just loud enough to carry. 

“No,” Andrew confirmed. He looked at him for a long moment, then gestured for him to move along as he fell into step behind him. “You are a pipedream.”


End file.
